


Icon of Mercy

by Yosituna



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-27 13:12:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yosituna/pseuds/Yosituna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mild AU. Elissa and Alistair talk to Riordan before the Landsmeet, and learn the true cost of slaying the Archdemon. Alistair is forced to realize that even Loghain might have a purpose yet to serve. F!Cousland/Alistair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Landsmeet

**Author's Note:**

> I always wanted the chance to have both Alistair and Loghain in my Dragon Age: Origins party, but sadly it was not to be. These kinds of situations are what fanfic is made for! Hence this fic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Elissa and Alistair talk to Riordan about the Archdemon a little ahead of schedule, they find that they may need Loghain more than they thought.

“Before we go, Riordan, I have a question. Duncan told me that only a Grey Warden can defeat the Blight. Why is that?”

Riordan looked back at the two junior Grey Wardens, wincing when his side twinged in pain at the movement. Elissa Cousland, daughter of the deposed teyrn of Highever. She was the one who had asked the question he had been most dreading. Alistair—he supposed Theirin was the appropriate surname now—illegitimate son of the previous king and _protégé_ of the late Commander of the Grey, Duncan.

Both had accomplished so much already, in spite of their relative youth. With their companions, they’d saved the Circle of Magi from blood mages and annulment, restored Arl Eamon to health using a pinch of ashes from the Sacred Urn of Andraste, and secured support from two notably unfriendly groups: the dwarves of Orzammar and the Dalish elves. They’d rescued Riordan himself, and the queen, from Arl Howe’s tender mercies—Elissa still looked shaken after her bloody confrontation with the man who had killed her family—and now they were planning to oust the usurper Loghain and become kingmakers.

If any other people had done any of these things at any other time, they would have been acclaimed great heroes. For these two, such nigh-impossible tasks were only stepping stones to their ultimate goal, and the most difficult task of them all: slaying the archdemon and ending the Blight.

He would be sad to see either of them die.

“As it happens, there is a reason for this…”

***

Elissa sat down on the bed heavily, then leaned back on her arms. “So. Ending the Blight means one of us dies.”

Alistair could feel his expression growing morose—what Elissa in less stressful times called his kicked-puppy face. “That’s the way it sounds. But don’t worry, Elissa, I won’t let—”

“—anything happen to me?” When he nodded, she continued, “That’s sweet, Alistair, but that’s not a promise you can keep. It’s not even a promise I want you to keep. At this point there are only three Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden: you, me, and Riordan. There will be at least one battle, maybe several, before we can even touch the archdemon. If something happens to one of us, the others have to be prepared to do this in their stead.”

Alistair knew he was not the smartest of men, but even he could read between those lines. “I know what you’re thinking, and I won’t let you sacrifice yourself this way, Elissa. I love you, dammit! I don’t—“

She raised a hand to silence Alistair. “I’m not looking forward to it either, Alistair. But we need to be practical. The fact remains, you may be our best hope for keeping Ferelden together. Riordan and I are comparatively expendable. From what Riordan says, it doesn’t seem like the Orlesian Wardens will come in time, so you may still have to slay the archdemon if something happens to either of us. Right now, though, we’re the logical choices.”

“Logical choices? I don’t even want to be king! Give it to Anora—she really wants it, and she’ll do fine. She’s been raised for this by her snake of a father, and it sounds like she essentially ruled while Cailan was king anyway. I’ll stay a Warden, and if need be _I’ll_ slay the archdemon.”

“And that’s better _how_?” she pressed, mercilessly. “Believe it or not, I don’t want you dead either.”

Alistair smiled, but knew that the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “Thanks, but I don’t see any other way to get around this.”

“Maybe that’s why Riordan didn’t want to tell us. He’s already been saddled with this, and he wanted us to enjoy what might be our last days,” Elissa said grimly.

“Maker, woman, do you have to put it like that?”

“I don’t know any other way to put it.” Elissa’s expression was bleak. Alistair put his arm around her and the two embraced, silently. They shared the moment quietly, then Elissa stood up and began pacing, clearly trying to think of how to handle things.

Alistair broke the silence. “Should…should we tell the others? I know this is a Grey Warden secret, but perhaps we can just give them the bare bones without the reasons—tell them that one of us will have to slay the archdemon, and die doing so.”

Elissa considered this for a moment, then shook her head. “I’d rather not. Let’s keep this between you and me for now. If need be, we can tell them before the final battle.”

Alistair grimaced. “It just seems a little dishonest, keeping this from them…”

“Well, look on the bright side.” Elissa quirked an eyebrow. “Maybe the darkspawn or Loghain will take us out before then, and the issue will be moot.”

“Thanks…you always know what to say to make a man feel better about things,” Alistair said sarcastically.

“Well, we’re not dead yet. And if you’d give me a minute, I can show you the benefits of that, firsthand…”

She did indeed know a way to make a man feel better, about many things.

Later, as he lay in bed and listened to Elissa’s soft breathing next to him, Alistair wondered how he’d ever gotten lucky enough to be with her. Highborn and raised accordingly, one might expect her to be cut from the same cloth as Anora. And indeed, both had the fine-boned features of Fereldan nobility, but that was where the resemblance ended. Anora’s hair was an icy blonde, styled into exaggerated braids and loops. Elissa’s hair was a warmer honey-gold, and generally kept in a simple bun. Her eyes were bright and sparkling, and her skin—Maker, her skin was the softest he’d ever touched.

He’d never seen a fiercer warrior either. Though she was smaller than him, she swung around a two-handed blade with the force of a storm, cutting down or sweeping away all in her path. He’d seen those eyes gleaming grimly, that golden hair straggling out of its bun, and that soft skin coated in darkspawn blood, and had thought to himself that he’d never seen her look more beautiful. Not for her, the hothouse flower lifestyle of so many noble ladies. A year ago, she had been practicing swordplay and enjoying life in the Cousland seat. Since then, she’d united much of Ferelden, human and nonhuman, to aid the Wardens, and he marvelled at how far she’d come. She truly was amazing.

And tomorrow, she would risk her life—they all would risk their lives—to stop Loghain and his mad schemes. And if they survived, risk their futures as well; Alistair knew that Elissa had discussed the idea of making him king with Eamon. Much as he didn’t want or deserve the position, Alistair had a feeling that he might end up with it anyway. And what would that mean for his future with Elissa? Two Grey Wardens had a nigh-impossible chance of having children, so he would never have an heir, potentially driving the kingdom right back into civil war—and that was the best-case scenario. Worst-case, he’d end up having to marry some battleaxe of a harridan, or worse yet, Anora. Elissa would be mostly gone from his life, serving as Commander of the Grey for the country or pushing parchments back in Weisshaupt. Was that really the kind of life he wanted, for either of them?

Tired of running over these thoughts repeatedly in his head, Alistair turned over and tried to get to sleep. He knew he needed to be fresh and alert in the morning. He had no illusions that Loghain would quietly submit to the harsh justice he deserved, and knew that it would be up to them to bring him down. _I won’t let him, or anything or anyone else, harm you, no matter what it takes. I would die to keep you safe…and given what Riordan said, I very well might, and count it worth every agony._

***

Elissa panted for breath, blood from a cut over her left eye blurring her vision. Nevertheless, she kept her gaze fixed on the figure in armor across from her, limping slightly as he kept up a defensive guard.

Agreeing to a one-on-one duel had perhaps not been her finest decision ever.

Still, as ill-advised as it had been, Elissa felt that she held the upper hand. Loghain was older and spent far too much time in castles and keeps, living soft, while she was young and coming off a year of near-constant battle. As long as she didn’t panic, didn’t let him out-think her, she could do this.

Loghain feinted, a stratagem that Elissa saw through and didn’t respond to. He immediately followed it up with an actual strike, one she quickly parried before smacking his gauntlet with the flat of her greatsword. The force would have been enough to break every finger in the hand if he hadn’t worn the gauntlet, and she was fairly certain from his face that at least one of them had broken even with the protection of armor. Loghain’s sword fell from limp hands, and as he dropped and rolled to pick it back up, attempting to evade Elissa’s blade, she changed direction so that she smashed her sword into his side as he rolled into it. Though the cutting edge of the sword couldn’t penetrate the armor, the fact that pounds of metal had been swung with incredible force into his side did not go unrewarded. He cried out and went limp, and Elissa saw a deep dent where her blow had landed. _Bruises at least, likely a cracked rib as well. Good._

Elissa stood, her arms trembling in exhaustion but her sword raised high, ready to come down on Loghain’s neck.

Loghain had raised himself to his knees, panting, sword forgotten at his side. “I…underestimated you, Warden. I thought you were like Cailan, a child wanting to play at war. I was…wrong.” He looked up at Elissa. “There’s a strength in you I have not seen anywhere…since Maric died.”

Elissa narrowed her eyes at him, but did not lower her guard. With a swipe of his hand over his eyes, Loghain said, “I yield.”

She looked at the teyrn for a moment, expression opaque, then sheathed her sword. “I accept your surrender.”

Alistair looked over at Elissa, face twisted in anger. “I didn’t just hear you say that. You’re going to let him live? After everything he’s done? Kill him already!”

“If he’s going to die, it will not be like this. He doesn’t deserve to die in battle. He’ll be executed, as any other traitor would be.” Elissa’s tones were measured as she pronounced his sentence.

Elissa saw a movement from the corner of her eye, and Riordan stepped forward from the crowd gathered around the edges of the hall. “Wait! There is another option. The teyrn is a warrior and general of renown. Let him be of use. Let him go through the Joining.”

She considered this for a moment, then asked, “Why would we take Loghain into the Wardens? He’s betrayed us once before.”

Riordan sighed. “There are too few of us. It’s not a matter of what we like, it’s a matter of what we must do. Our duty is to slay the archdemon. We aren’t judges. Kinslayers, blood mages, traitors, rebels, Carta thugs, common bandits, anyone with the skill and the mettle to take up the sword against the darkspawn is welcome among us. There are three of us in Ferelden, and as you know, there are…compelling reasons to have as many Wardens on hand as possible to deal with the archdemon.”

Anora chimed in. “The Joining itself is often fatal, is it not? If he survives, you gain a general, if not, you have your revenge.” Riordan looked taken aback at this, and Elissa wondered just who had disclosed, even partially, Warden secrets to such as her. Probably Cailan, with his fascination with the Wardens, had wrangled it out of Duncan, and then she had heard it from him. Still, this was knowledge she should not have, and Elissa noted this.

Alistair interjected, loudly. “Joining the Wardens is an honor, not a punishment. Name him a Warden and you cheapen us all! I will _not_ stand next to him as a brother, I _won’t_!” He sounded less like an angry warrior than a petulant child, and was certainly doing very little for his cause.

Elissa turned to Alistair. “Look, we haven’t made a decision one way or the other yet, Alistair. Calm down.”

Alistair lowered his voice, but his anger continued unabated. “Loghain is a traitor. We need him like we need to be stabbed in the back. Or have you forgotten how his being a great general didn’t help the last time?”

“Of course not. But as Riordan has mentioned, there are definite reasons we may want to consider bringing him into the Wardens. We’ll discuss this later.” Elissa looked thoughtful for a moment, then turned back to the bannorn. “I would like some time to consider this. Give me the night, and tomorrow I will announce Loghain’s fate.”

Alistair looked at her incredulously. “Time? What? What is there to consider?” He continued, his voice rising in volume again. “Loghain left Cailan and Duncan to die! He poisoned Eamon! He hired assassins to kill us! I don’t see—“

“ _Quiet_ , Alistair,” Elissa hissed, taking him aback. “We’ll discuss this tonight.” More audibly, she said, “I formally request that the Landsmeet give the Grey Wardens one night to decide his fate, during which the traitor Loghain will be imprisoned and his wounds treated. We would then reconvene here tomorrow, to announce our decision.”

The bannorn conferred, then their spokesman turned back. “We agree to your request. Though all Ferelden has suffered under the traitor, the Grey Wardens have perhaps suffered most, and deserve to decide his punishment. We will resume the Landsmeet tomorrow.” He gestured, and Loghain was hauled off to be placed into chains. _I hope he ends up in Fort Drakon, stripped to his smallclothes and enjoying the tender mercies of the resident torturer_ , Elissa thought with a small hint of vengeful satisfaction. _Let him experience even a portion of what he inflicted on us_. She bowed to the bannorn, then stalked away, her allies following behind.

***

“What the hell were you thinking?” Alistair raged as soon as the door shut behind them. “You can’t seriously be considering sparing Loghain!”

“I am. I mean to make him a Grey Warden.”

The look of abject betrayal Alistair turned toward Elissa felt like a punch in the gut, and almost undid her resolve. Leliana attempted to intercede, voice at its most soothing. “I know you need more Wardens, Elissa, but are you certain you want Loghain? This seems like a bad idea.”

“It’s a terrible idea!” Alistair expostulated. “You want to make him one of us? You want to pollute the Wardens’ brotherhood with this… _filth_? Need I remind you that the only reason the Wardens’ number is so low is because of Loghain himself?”

“No, I’m fully aware of that,” Elissa said coolly.

“Really? Then I don’t understand why you haven’t lopped his head off already. Because of him, Duncan and all the other Wardens are dead. Because of the blood mage assassin he hired, Eamon is still barely out of his sickbed and Connor no longer has a mother. Do you want me to go on?”

“Yes, yes, I know the litany of Loghain’s crimes as well as you do,” Elissa said, gesturing impatiently. “But our numbers are too low. With only three of us, the odds aren’t great that a Grey Warden will even _make_ it to the archdemon, let alone kill it. The more of us there are, the more likely a Warden can slay the archdemon and end the Blight.”

Zevran raised his hand. “Perhaps I am missing something obvious, but why, exactly, does it sound like you need a Warden specifically to slay the Archdemon? Cannot anyone butcher the thing?”

Elissa sighed, fingers steepled against her forehead. “Unfortunately not. I was hoping you wouldn’t have to learn this, but as it’s bound to come out now, you may as well hear it. Only a Warden can slay the Archdemon, and only at the cost of his—or her—own life.”

“What? That’s horrible!” Leliana cried, while Wynne merely gave Elissa and Alistair a sympathetic gaze. Morrigan seemed unsurprised, but then she rarely showed any emotion at all aside from contempt (usually for Alistair).

“I can’t give you the details,” Elissa continued. “It’s an issue of Warden secrecy, not my own choice. But the end result is, the more Wardens there are, the higher the likelihood that we will be able to end the Blight, and perhaps even survive.”

“Yes, but why _Loghain_?” cried Alistair. “You can conscript everyone in Denerim for all I care—” (“So long as you leave me out of it,” Zevran interjected, raising his hands) “—but why bring that murderer into the fold? Why give him another chance to stab us in the backs?”

“Because no one will miss him,” Elissa replied. “Also, he’s a strategic genius when he’s not blinded by paranoia, and in his defense, I think he has finally realized how insane his actions were.” Elissa pointed out. “Nothing like being abandoned by the bannorn and nearly being slaughtered with a broadsword to bring you to your senses, it seems.”

“Well, what a miracle, the murderer’s had a change of heart! Let’s just roll out the cloth of gold and slaughter a fat pig to welcome him back!”

“This kind of snide sarcasm doesn’t suit you,” Elissa said, unperturbed.

Alistair immediately looked abashed. “I’m sorry, I…I just…it goes against everything in me to work with that man. He killed Duncan. I can’t—I won’t—ever forgive him for that.”

“And I’m not asking you to,” Elissa replied. “I think the man is lower than pond scum, too. He supported Howe’s attack on my family, and promised him Highever. I don’t like him any better than you do, and the idea of taking him on as anything resembling a comrade makes my skin want to crawl off my body and flee to Orlais, but we need him. Every Grey Warden we have is another chance to stop the Blight before it entirely swallows Ferelden. And every Grey Warden that isn’t either of us makes it more likely—or should I say, less unlikely—that we’ll both survive the Blight. Loghain has the added benefit of being someone I, and I imagine you as well, will not feel at all guilty at sacrificing to end the Blight. I don’t know about you, but I do like the part of this plan where we both have a chance to stay alive.”

Alistair looked mutinous for a moment, then sighed. “Fine, fine. You win. Make Loghain a Warden, so long as we can throw him at the archdemon. He ruined and ended so many lives at Ostagar, I guess he should get a chance to end his own by saving others from the Blight. Perhaps it’ll even go part of the way towards atoning for his crimes. Bring him along with us if you think you have to. Just…don’t expect me to talk to him, or even acknowledge his existence. And know that I’ll be watching him like a hawk, praying for him to slip up and betray us so that I can cut him down.”

“Sounds fair enough,” Elissa said. “And I can’t imagine _any_ of us will be lining up to become bosom buddies with him.”

As she looked around the room the rest nodded or grimaced. Even Shale rumbled, “I have found that the traitor human has more in common with a large pigeon than one would have at first believed,” and her eyes gleamed with a predatory ferocity.

“See? I don’t think you need to worry.”

“Well, I will,” Alistair said fiercely. “And you tell him that the second he makes a wrong move, or tries to stab us in the back, I will lop off his head without a second thought, and do it with a smile on my face.”

Elissa smiled, and the expression was one that boded ill for Loghain. “Oh believe me, I will. It will be my pleasure.”


	2. The Joining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loghain undergoes the Joining, at Riordan's and Elissa's hands. The ensuing visions force him to re-evaluate his actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long for me to get another chapter up! Updates will still be sporadic, but hopefully more frequent than every ten months...this is my first attempt at a multi-chapter fic, and I'd like to see it through.

Every time Elissa Cousland saw the traitor Loghain, she itched to kill the man with her bare hands. He lay behind so many of the horrible memories of the past year, like a long-faced spider in a web, and everything in her balked at the idea of fighting alongside him. Even with his hands bound together, he was dangerous. _Still, he may be our best chance at surviving the archdemon_ , she thought to herself. _We need him_.  
  
Anora, now officially Queen of Ferelden in her own right, turned to Elissa. “Wardens, have you come to consensus on Teyrn Loghain’s fate?”  
  
“We have,” Elissa said, pitching her voice low but clear, to carry to the farthest reaches of the Landsmeet chamber. “The traitor Loghain will undergo the Joining ritual to become a Grey Warden. As both a traitor and a Warden, he will forfeit all claim to his lands and property twice over. He will live and die as a Grey Warden.”

***

Loghain stood within the Landsmeet chamber, half in a daze. He had genuinely expected them to kill him; the suggestion that he join the Grey Wardens had clearly been a sop to Anora, but he never thought they’d actually go through with this charade. He knew little about the Joining—he hadn’t even known that it could be fatal, and he wondered from where Anora had gleaned _that_ little tidbit of information—and he certainly had no idea what being a Grey Warden would truly entail, aside from being secretive and possibly colluding with Orlesians.

All eyes were on Loghain, and he found himself feeling uncomfortable (though of course he ensured that outwardly, he showed no qualms). Maric’s bastard was glaring at him with such force that Loghain wondered that he hadn’t burst something within his head, and the Cousland girl, though she had pronounced his sentence dispassionately, didn’t look much friendlier. Even the golem appeared to be frowning in his general direction, which was especially impressive as it lacked the requisite facial features to truly do so. Only Anora looked at him with anything but disgust or hatred; underneath her cool exterior, he could tell that she was strung as tightly as a longbow, and faint depressions between her brows pointed toward her concern for him.

“Let him undergo the Joining, then,” Anora intoned with outward calm. “His fate has been sealed. As you say, he will live and die as a Grey Warden.” She turned away from Loghain and towards the bannorn. “And now, lords and ladies of Ferelden, there is still a Blight to defeat, and armies to gather, and I appoint this woman to lead us in both. We will not allow this land to be further threatened by the Archdemon…”

***

After his daughter’s rousing speech—he had never felt more proud of Anora—Loghain found himself on Arl Eamon’s estate, being led by the Orlesian Warden and the Cousland girl to a back bedchamber. As he stood waiting, watching Riordan mixing various noxious-looking fluids in a silver chalice borrowed from Eamon, Loghain felt surprisingly calm. Oddly so, even, given that death likely awaited him in this homely little room. In fact, he still was not entirely certain that the two Wardens weren’t merely planning to serve him poison—who seriously believed that the Wardens would drink _darkspawn blood_ , of all things—and watch as he died in horrific agony. No doubt they would see it as a fitting revenge.

Riordan turned to Elissa. “Do you wish to watch the Joining?”

She bared her teeth in a mockery of a smile. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” _Yes, definitely poison in that cup_. As suddenly as it had come, the grinning rictus left her face, and she resumed her usual careful expression. “After all, I’ve never seen a Joining from the outside before. It seems like it would be an...educational experience.”

“Very well.” Riordan nodded, and held out the chalice to the bound Loghain. As it hovered before his face, he could see faint wisps of smoke rise slowly from the surface of the viscous liquid within, curling and dissipating in the frigid air.

“Loghain.” Riordan assumed a grave expression. “You are called upon to submit yourself to the Taint for the greater good. From this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden.”

Filthy Orlesian bastard. How dare he look on Loghain with that mixture of pity and contempt! If Loghain had had his sword with him, he would have done his best to spit the frog-eater on it, but he lacked even an eating-knife.

He was powerless. He felt even more so than he had as a freeholder’s son, watching the Orlesians as they…did _things_ to his mother. So much for being the most powerful man in the kingdom. Grudgingly, he spoke the words they seemed to be expecting.

“I…understand.”

Well, this Joining was as like to kill him as not, but at least it would spare him the ignominy of a public execution. Loghain took a deep breath, then nodded at Riordan. The elder Warden tipped the chalice’s contents into Loghain’s mouth, and he downed the bitter-tasting draught with one swig. Loghain grimaced at the coating the thick drink left behind on his tongue…then the pain started crackling through his head and down through his limbs, and he knew no more.

***

Consciousness returned slowly. As Loghain struggled back towards wakefulness, flashes of horror darted through his thoughts. What appeared to be a high dragon. An army of darkspawn, boiling from the earth and infesting the land. He could not tell whether these flashes were real, or merely especially vivid nightmares. But as his reason returned, Loghain knew that one thing was true: he had apparently survived the Joining.

_Hm. Unexpected, I have to say_.

“You’re awake.” Elissa Cousland stalked over to him, and in spite of the girl’s petite form, Loghain could not help but be reminded of a mabari stalking its prey. The comparison was not a comforting one to him.

“Yes. I—I suppose this makes me a Grey Warden, then.” Loghain cursed the hesitation that had made its way to his lips. He knew better than to show that kind of vulnerability to an enemy—and make no mistake, it was clear from Cousland’s narrowed eyes that she regarded Loghain as such.

“I suppose you’ve now experienced the visions.”

At that, Loghain looked at her, temporarily speechless. “How—“

“It comes with being a Grey Warden.” The Cousland girl frowned at him, but not unkindly—more a frown at a set of generally unfortunate circumstances. “It’s not public knowledge, but the consumption of darkspawn blood gives us a—I suppose you could call it a mental link with the darkspawn. I imagine what you saw is the archdemon.”

Loghain noticed that Cousland was careful not to bring up the fact that Duncan had been arguing that the conflict was a true Blight for months, only to be disregarded by both Cailan and Loghain. But the thought was there, just behind those hazel eyes—he could tell from the way they chilled and hardened as they gazed at him.

The Cousland girl pulled out a wickedly long dagger. Loghain’s eyes briefly widened as he saw her go around him—was she planning to cut his throat from behind?—but then he felt the ropes binding him suddenly slacken.

He rose from the chair, rubbing his wrists to restore feeling. When he turned towards her, he was met with another surprise. Cousland was holding out his longsword in her mailed hand, hilt-first. “We meet tomorrow in the courtyard of Arl Eamon’s estate. Make sure you’re ready to leave at first light; anything left undone by then will have to remain so.”

With that, Cousland and the Orlesian left the room. Leaving him alone. With a sword. They were either incredibly trusting to the point of folly, or they had some contingency plan in place if he attempted to escape or attack them. Given what had happened the last time he’d underestimated Elissa Cousland, he decided to assume the latter. So...no escape. Though, even if he could make it away from Denerim undetected, where would he go? What would he do? Gwaren was out—he was too recognizable there, and though some of his people would no doubt feel he’d been poorly done by and give him shelter, the vast majority would sell him out for a few coppers. He’d seen how it was during the Rebellion, and had no illusions that the people of Ferelden had grown more loyal in the interim.

No, his only real recourse would be to leave Ferelden. To leave his home, and go…where? Kirkwall? Starkhaven? _Orlais_? He shuddered at the very thought. And no matter where he went, he had the Taint coursing through his veins. Though neither of the Wardens had come out and told him that it would have negative effects on his health or lifespan, from the way they had talked around certain subjects, it seemed likely.

How would the Taint take him? Would he go insane, like some of the battlefield veterans had at Ostagar, ranting and swinging at the empty air? Would he become a darkspawn himself? He vaguely remembered the half-human Warden— _thing_ —that had nearly killed Maric back at the Circle Tower, and felt a gaping pit of fear in his gut at the thought of becoming anything like that horror.

So…he would stay with the Wardens. In some ways, it was fitting. Loghain knew that his actions had not been honorable, or noble. That had not been his goal. Honor, nobility—these things tended to get people killed, and lose battles that needed to be won. Loghain had always prided himself on doing what needed to be done, no matter how unpleasant. Even Maric had grown to appreciate that part of him, though Loghain knew his friend had never fully forgiven him for his part in the events that led to the elven spy’s death. But he had always felt that these harsh actions were justified, if he acted to protect the best interests of his country.

But _had he been_?

He had to admit, the vision of the Archdemon had shaken him. He’d thought the darkspawn menace something pesky, violent, but ultimately easily repelled by a Ferelden united under his protection. But now…? Now he was no longer so certain. And if this was indeed a Blight rolling over the land, perhaps his actions, well-meant as they were, had actually done nothing but drive Ferelden further into the darkspawn’s slavering jaws. He'd sooner die on an Orlesian sword than become that.

So…the Wardens. Perhaps with them he could truly protect the country he loved. For that, he’d work with a demon from the Fade itself. And remembering the look that Elissa Cousland had fired at him, he couldn’t deny that he might rather face the demon.


	3. One Night and One Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loghain and Anora have a heart-to-heart, while Elissa explains the full impact of the Joining to Loghain.

The newly-crowned Queen Anora Mac Tir had been pacing the floor of her sitting room, only vaguely conscious of the wear to the carpet, for over an hour when the door opened. She immediately whipped around, and let out an audible sigh of relief to see Erlina leading her father into the room. Her maid silently left the room, leaving Anora and her father alone.

"Father! I'm glad to see you survived the Joining."

Inwardly, Anora cursed herself for not showing more emotion at her father's very survival, but she and her father's relationship was... _complicated_ , to say the least. She had always loved him, but they never regained the closeness that they had when she was a child and her mother was alive.

As a child, she had adored him; as a teenager, she had been pleased to spend time with him at court even as she had wondered why he so rarely talked about her mother; as a newlywed, she thought she began to see the reason as she saw Loghain doggedly search for the lost King Maric; as a widow, she had found herself worried for his sanity and frightened of what he would do to the kingdom (though not to her, her claims to the Wardens aside).

Loghain merely gave a wordless grumble, then sat down in one of the delicate-looking chairs, that was nowhere near as fragile as it appeared. (Having both Cailan and Loghain as frequent guests in the room, often in armor, Anora had learned this lesson the hard way.)

"...So it appears I am a Grey Warden now."

Anora took her own seat. She was not used to being unsure of her father's intentions, but his current mood was not one she had seen before and was impossible for her to read. "So what do you plan to do now? And how can I help?"

Unstated was an offer to help him escape from the Wardens and make a new life elsewhere. Loghain gave Anora a fond smile, then his face clouded over. "I think...I think I have been wrong. Certainly about the Cousland girl, and the Blight. Probably about the Wardens in general. Possibly about the kingdom itself."

Anora mostly managed to keep her surprise from showing on her face, but clearly she was not entirely successful, as Loghain gave a low chuckle. "Not expecting to hear that from me, I take it."

Anora gave a small smile. "Well, you certainly seemed...set in your ways. I was worried."

"I have been wrong. And because of it, I've done some things, taken some actions, that I shouldn't have."

Anora shot him a teasing look. "So penitent! Next you’ll be reconsidering the Orlesians."

Loghain let out a startled rumble of laughter. "Perish the thought!"

A moment of silence followed. Her face now sober, Anora gazed steadily at Loghain. "So what happens next?"

"I don’t know." He sighed. "I'm to leave with the Wardens on the morrow, early. I don’t know where we're going or what we're doing—for all I know, the Cousland girl has managed to ally us with the qunari, or maybe Andraste herself—but as it will take at least a month to properly gather the armies anyway, going with them seems as good a course of action as any. We should be back by the time our forces are finished massing at Redcliffe."

Anora gave her father a sad smile. "So...I suppose I won't see you again until we're ready to begin our offensive against the darkspawn."

"I suppose not." Loghain's glower looked even more fiercer than usual, but Anora knew that was merely a cover for his feelings of vulnerability.

Anora rose to her feet, followed soon after by her father. "Then good luck, Father, and my thoughts and prayers will be with you." She was reaching out to take Loghain's hands in her own when he startled her by pulling her into a fierce hug. She squeezed back, knowing that though so many of his actions, even over the past year, had been taken for her, this was as close as her father would ever get to overtly expressing his paternal love.

Sooner than either of them would have liked, the moment was over. Loghain nodded awkwardly at his daughter. "And I will see you before the final battle...Your Majesty." And with that, he was gone.

* * *

Anticipating the first rosy spark of dawn, Loghain stood in the dark courtyard of Arl Eamon's estate—ostentatious pile that it was—waiting for his new Warden "brethren" to appear. Elissa Cousland and Maric's bastard were the first to show themselves, along with her mabari, but within a surprisingly brief span of time the other companions, from the Wilder witch to the red-haired Orlesian (who was undoubtedly a spy), joined them. Riordan came to bid them farewell, but mentioned that he would stay behind. He was probably planning on engaging in espionage as well, gathering information to take back to his empress. Bloody Orlesians. Another man whom Loghain didn’t recognize joined them as well, and stood talking to Cousland.

Cousland thumped her shield a few times for attention. As her band of soldiers and thieves quit their gabbing and turned to her, she began to speak. "Most of you know Levi Dryden. He's given us information about a Warden stronghold in the mountains to the north, abandoned for two centuries. We'll be investigating it to see if there is anything we can use against the Archdemon."

"And to clear Sophia's name," the unknown man piped in.

Cousland sighed, and Loghain could see her visibly restraining herself from rolling her eyes. "Yes, and to investigate whether Sophia Dryden was in fact guilty of the treason of which she was accused. Any questions?" Getting no response, she indicated that they were to move out.

The first rays of the sun were barely peeking over the horizon as the small band trudged through the streets of Denerim. When they were about a mile out of the city, Cousland fell back. Loghain was not surprised that she wished to talk to him—or threaten him—but decided that if she thought he would fall in line with her whims like that twit of a Templar or the louche elven assassin, he would be quick to disabuse her of such a notion.

Fixing him with a chilly gaze, she spoke. "Now that you've survived the Joining and are an official Grey Warden, there’s some information that you should know." Her flat declaration made it clear that Loghain would soon wish he hadn’t learned any of this.

He raised his eyebrows, and indicated that she should continue.

"You already know about the visions and the nightmares. That connection with the darkspawn never fades. We can sense them, and we have increased strength and stamina. Unfortunately, they can also sense us, and the physical gifts come with a cost: we rarely live thirty years beyond our Joining, if that."

"I am not a young man," Loghain responded. "I doubt I had that much time left anyway."

"That's not the worst of it." Cousland’s eyes grew pitying, which Loghain instinctively resented. "As time goes on, the visions, and the voices of the archdemon and the darkspawn, grow stronger. Eventually we cannot withstand it, and at that time we go to what is known as the Calling...we go to Orzammar and give our lives battling the darkspawn, lest the taint take us in a much worse way."

"Again, I am unlikely to live that long," Loghain snapped. "Why do you bother telling me such things?"

Her eyes hardened. "Yes, you are unlikely to live that long. There is a reason Alistair and I agreed to take you on as a Grey Warden, Loghain. As I'm sure you've realized, left to our own devices your head would be adorning a spike outside the castle."

Loghain laughed, a short bark of cynical humor. "Do you expect me to thank you for your mercy in sparing me? You’ve spent the past several minutes boring me with the ways in which this 'gift' will ruin and end my life, should I live so long, so you'll pardon me if my gratitude is less than overflowing."

Out of the corner of his eye, Loghain saw the closer members of the party eagerly eavesdropping. Alistair's face, usually imbecilically cheerful, looked like a thundercloud ready to loose its bolt.

The Cousland girl, on the other hand, remained calm, though her lips were tightly pinched together. "We don't expect gratitude. We do, however, expect you to do what it is that we spared your life to do. If you can't bring yourself to do that, we can end your life, right here, right now. Your continued survival depends on your being useful to the Wardens, so I suggest you think long and hard about what it is that you're prepared to do."

"What is this purpose, then, Commander?" he sneered. "What is it that you needed so desperately that you were willing to turn to me?"

"The archdemon can only be slain by a Grey Warden. In the process of doing so, the Warden is killed." The words came out clipped.

Suddenly all the pieces fell into place. Loghain could almost admire her ruthlessness, if he weren't angered by having been so blatantly and obviously used.

"...I see. So I am to be the sacrificial lamb, I take it."

"In theory, if all goes well, yes. In practice, all four of us remaining Wardens will have to be prepared to give our lives for the cause. After all, we can't rely on the good fortune that you will survive the archdemon's attacks long enough to slay it for us."

" _Good fortune_ ," Loghain echoed. "So you and your _boy_ —" ("Hey!" Alistair cried indignantly) "—can survive the Blight and make fat babies together?" Babies that would threaten his Anora, he silently added.

Unperturbed, Elissa answered Loghain coolly. "Yes, that is the best-case scenario. After all, the lion's share of the reason Ferelden is in this mess lies at your feet. It seems only fitting that if someone should give his or her life to save it, it should be you...especially given your oft-proclaimed love for your country. You say that Ferelden's welfare is your highest priority, but your actions of late have flown in the face of that. If you truly care about your country, then I suggest you show it by falling in line and doing what needs to be done."

Livid with rage, yet uncomfortably aware that her words were not without truth, Loghain gritted his teeth. "Understood."

Cousland turned on her heel and walked over to Alistair, and the march proceeded in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, if you’re wondering…yes, in this fic Anora secretly suspects that Loghain was in love with Maric. She doesn’t know about her father's feelings for Rowan.


End file.
